


Kool Off

by Oxygen_Thief



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: And Maxima is a single father, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, K' is kind of a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxygen_Thief/pseuds/Oxygen_Thief
Summary: It's probably frustrating having to console a whiny teenager with ice cream at 4:30 in the morning, especially when you're a whiny teenager yourself.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Kool Off

The first few months after Kula stayed, there would be nights where she wouldn’t stop crying. 

At first it didn’t make sense to him: She was in a bad situation, and then she WASN’T in a bad situation, so why was she having weird episodes? K’ didn’t consider himself an expert in child psychology, but something about Kula’s social development seemed a little stunted for a 14-year-old. It drove him mad.

They would try to be sleeping, only for he and Maxima to be woken up by her crying. There’d be a moment of denial followed by a sinking in their chests at the realization she needed help. 

Maxima always dealt with it, like he dealt with everything else. He’d huff and complain, but never in front of her. K’ would pretend to be asleep and he would hear the giant guide Kula to the kitchen, where they had quiet conversations over ice cream. He wouldn’t admit it to himself let alone anyone else, but sometimes K’s frustration would wane enough that he could fall asleep to the sound of their voices. The sheer relief of her whining coming to an end calmed him down enough. 

Her living with them should have been simple, not babysitting. He’d seen her defend herself against military men twice her size and the best martial artists the world had to offer. He was pretty sure she could go days without eating. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure if Kula physically needed sleep at all. Whatever scientists made the girl had to have been super crappy if their dependable weapon was so dependent on others.

Alas, the inevitable happened: Maxima was away on some sort of solo mission in another country and Kula had an episode, and K’ was left to console a tiny former killer with ice cream at 4:30 in the morning.

It was taking all the strength in the world not to yell at her, but K’ had enough foresight in certain situations to not fuck himself over. He just stared at his lap not knowing what to say, eyes feeling like lead, while she happily ate like they were at an ice cream shop on a saturday afternoon. 

At some point he saw her staring at him, spoon in her mouth, eyes big and curious while he tried to hide in his own peripheral vision.

“What?” He asked curtly, like a quick shot from a doctor.

“What’s your favorite ice cream, K’?” She responded to his question with a question. 

Was he strong enough not to scold her then? Probably not, but maybe he was just too tired to do so. 4:30 in the fucking morning.

“I don’t like ice cream,” he hissed, not looking at her. The light bulb above them wasn’t hot; just unnatural and uncomfortable against K’s tired eyes. The windows were still plastered in darkness with no hints of sunlight, and the city was so dead asleep that he didn’t hear cars in the streets.

Kula’s shoulders perked up in surprise at his words. “But everyone--”

“Kula, I need to go back to bed. And so do you. Finish so I can sleep.”

She leaned back in her chair with a soft creak from the wood, hands crossed over her stomach and chin tucked to her collarbone as if she wanted to curl into herself. For a few moments she was silent before speaking again.

“I’ll go to bed when you tell me your favorite ice cream.”

Frowning at Kula through the slits between his fingers, K’ decided he would be more mad at her when he woke up and had the energy, so he succumbed to the bullshit.

“I don’t know . . .” he droned, lazily bouncing a leg. After rubbing his mouth in thought (which were just faded images of some crap he used to eat as a kid), “ . . . I think I used to like butterscotch, or caramel. Something like that.”

“That stuff’s sweet,” Kula awkwardly agreed.

“Yeah.”

“Maxima likes rocky road--”

“Why are we talking about ice cream?” K’ interjected with a harsher tone than intended. Kula shrunk again and something stabbed K’ in the chest, an invisible knife from somewhere. Not guilt; no way. 

“I don’t know what else to talk to you about,” Kula confessed. She stood up from her chair and put everything away while K’ watched. There was a loud clang when she threw the silverware into the sink. 

Just as she was about to turn the corner back to her room, she looked at K’ blankly and said, “Everything makes you mad, dummy. Be happy.”

“Why’re you telling me that when you cry almost every night?”

Kula blushed at K’s insult. The knife stabbed again at the sight. “At least Maxima makes me feel better. You’re just mean!”

She stomped off. 

K’ wanted to be relieved at Kula leaving him alone, but he knew what was going to happen: She’d tell Maxima about their argument (that he, the older one, started), and then he’d recieve a lot more hell than he would have if he’d just played along with her stupid conversation. He groaned internally, so frustrated and tired at the same time that he didn’t get up for another couple minutes.

After turning off the kitchen light switch once he finally mustered the strength to stand, it wasn’t completely dark. It was summer and the days were longer, so at 4:42 the atmosphere was beginning to look calmly grey and K’ could see the outlines of some trees outside. Something about the sight calmed him, like he was walking on the world’s back as it tried to sleep.

Instead of walking past Kula’s room, K’ stood at her door to lean in and listen. No words, no muffled sniffling, not even any snoring; just tiny hints at quiet breathing. It was only noticeable when he closed his eyes and focused his hearing. 

He didn’t know why he stopped and listened. He knew he was still in trouble whether she was sleeping like a rock or not, but he didn’t want her to lose sleep or anything.

Foresight had a tendency to grace K’s mind like a diamond in the rough, but hindsight was a dime a dozen for him, even on his best days. He kept all that cash for himself, didn’t let anyone else have it, but that didn’t stop himself from feeling pretty stupid when he realized it wasn’t just about ice cream for her. Neither of them chose nightmares of science labs or needles or cold tile floors, and neither of them chose how they naturally wanted to cope.

K’ didn’t go back to sleep that day. A week passed and Kula woke up in tears again, but K’ pushed Maxima’s shoulder down and said he’d get it that time, much to the man’s surprise. 

He had prepared by buying a carton of butterscotch ice cream a few days prior.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super upset with myself that I'm not working on my multi-chapter fic right now, so I wanted to post something while I still wrap my head around that project.
> 
> I like the dynamic Kula and K' have; they're adorable and their relationship reminds me of how I used to get on my older brothers' nerves when we were younger. When it comes to KoF lore I'm not too well-informed (even though I love the characters to death and enjoy reading the wikis), so if I got something wrong mentioning how both K' and Kula were experiments (I know at least that K' is a clone of Kyo), then I apologize. 
> 
> Also I wrote this in like, a few hours. This is a first draft. Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading!


End file.
